figure and honest, true face of Richard
Blake.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PRIZE ESSAY.

One day, towards the close of the school, great excitement prevailed in
Mrs. Elder's Select Establishment for Young Ladies, the cause being a
communication made through the lady-principal to her pupils from a
gentleman and relative of hers lately returned from India. He had
visited the school several times within the last few months, and seemed
to take an interest in it; but still there was no lack of astonishment
when Mrs. Elder announced one morning that her friend, Mr. Corbett, had
intimated his intention of awarding a special prize to the pupil who
would write the best essay on any of the three following
subjects--namely, Christmas joys, a short account of the French
Revolution, and a brief review of one of Sir Walter Scott's novels.
The babble of tongues that ensued after this intimation was wonderful.
Mrs. Elder laughingly beat a hasty retreat, and Miss Smith lay
resignedly back in her chair, and waited till peace and order were
restored.

"Of course Ada will win the prize," was the general comment, "she is so
clever, and Mr. King always praises her essays. Nellie can't come near
her in the way of composition; but we must all try to do our best, for
the honour of the school."

The elder girls, who were not included in the list of competitors, felt
inclined to second these remarks, and Ada smiled triumphantly when she
heard them whispered abroad. There was little doubt in her own mind as
to who was likely to be the successful candidate, and she only wondered
which subject would best show forth her brilliancy of style and
composition.

Winnie and Nellie, firm friends still in spite of all restraints,
consulted together, and spoke of the utter uselessness of their most
strenuous endeavours. "We've no chance against Ada," they said
disconsolately, "but like the others we'll have to attempt something."

"What will you try, Winnie?" inquired Nellie. "I think I'll tackle
'the French Revolution.'"

Winnie's brow was wrinkled in perplexity. "Do you know, Nell," she
said at length, looking up with a curious gleam in her eyes, "I never
tried very hard in all my life to write a really good essay. I just
mixed anything together and popped it down higgledy-piggledy style, as
Dick would say. Yet sometimes I have beautiful thoughts, and they run
together in such beautiful words that I think I may manage to produce a
respecta